Jack of Hearts: Remembering John Ritter

2009's somber summer of celebrity death and our nation's most profound day of mourning sadly intersect this 9/11 with the sixth anniversary of John Ritter's tragic passing.

Yes, it's been six years since the Three's Company and Slingblade star suddenly succumbed to an uncommon but lethal heart defect known as acute aortic dissection. His untimely demise, like that of Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson, broke millions of hearts—including my own.

I'll never forget the fateful 5 a.m. phone call that jolted me from a peaceful sleep on Sept. 12, 2003. On the other end: the ominous voice of a TV news magazine reporter who'd covered my Three's Company book's publication—and Jack Tripper's alter ego's gracious support of same—years earlier.

"Did you hear about John Ritter?" she asked with tell-tale trepidation.

I wanted to rewind the world forever to avoid hearing what would inevitably leave her lips.

"He collapsed on the set of 8 Simple Rules. They rushed him to the ER right across the street in Burbank, but it was too late. He died a few hours later. I think it was his heart."

His heart. His heart? His heart? How could this happen to one of the only Hollywood stars whose heart remained infinitely bigger than his head? This kind, caring man gave so much of his heart, only to have it give out on him? What a cruel irony.

The reporter's words were razor-sharp succinct and simple. Yet in that moment they were also as incomprehensible as the broken utterances I mustered in response. It would take years to wrap my head and heart around the fact that John was gone.

What has sunk in, though, and never left me is an even more poignant irony: This enormously talented, versatile actor whose young-at-heart, as-seen-on-TV silliness helped me and so many others momentarily transcend our so-not-very-Brady childhood left us before he had a chance—personally or professionally—to fully outgrow his own boyish charm.

Like Michael Jackson and Farrah—and their childlike giggles—John will forever epitomize the youthful spirit and wide-eyed wonder that endeared him to generations of TV audiences. Perhaps that is the small bit of solace we can find in the premature passings of our childhood idols. After the tears have cleared, I for one would much rather escape again in the magical performances they left us than try in vain to grasp why only the good die young.

Tabloid Baby breaks news of Retroality.TV's tell-all interview with "Farrah's Story" exec producer Craig Nevius!

The edgy, investigative news blog Tabloid Baby boldly broke news yesterday of our explosive interview with Farrah Fawcett's producing partner and friend, Craig Nevius.

Check out and bookmark this fascinating blog based on the breakthrough book by the same name.

RETROALITY.TV EXCLUSIVE Farrah's producer/confidant on Ryan O'Neal's alleged death threats & "self-proclaimed best friend" Alana Stewart's "betrayal"

Craig Nevius interview: part two of a two-part Retroality.TV exclusive leading up to the Creative Arts Emmys on Sept. 12

By Chris Mann
Retroality.TV Editor

Less than three months after losing her brave three-year battle with anal cancer, Farrah Fawcett may win her first Emmy this month for her groundbreaking final act, NBC’s controversial documentary Farrah’s Story. But for the late icon’s co-nominated exec producer, the legal war to tell Fawcett’s full fight-for-life story has only just begun.

In the second half of his explosive two-part interview, Fawcett’s business partner, Craig Nevius, tells Retroality.TV how he came to “protect” Fawcett only to lose control of their NBC project to her longtime lover, Ryan O’Neal, Fawcett pal Alana Stewart and O'Neal's business manager. Nevius sued all three for interfering in Farrah's proposed "video diary" as Fawcett lay dying last spring. The beloved actress passed away on June 25, six weeks after NBC aired Farrah's Story to nearly 9 million viewers and mixed reviews.


Click here to read part one of this interview.

Ryan told the New York Post that Farrah had you “booted” off the project because you were “obsessed” with the idea that the media and paparazzi were killing Farrah. Your thoughts?
That was the first I’d heard of that, by the way. And the last I heard of it until you just asked. As I said before, we chose to try to focus the media on how some of them were improperly obtaining Farrah’s private information (and sometimes pictures). We did this rather than to confirm or deny the improperly obtained information, which would have been a further invasion of her privacy. It was a defensive strategy in terms of dealing with the tabloids and paparazzi, as Farrah sought medical treatment that she was not ready to discuss with the world. Which is not to say that some of overly-aggressive paparazzi and tabloids were not a real issue for Farrah. They were. And that was the “subplot” of Farrah’s documentary. So I am not quite sure where Ryan’s “obsession” accusation comes from.

But don’t take my word for it; take Farrah’s. Read the one and only sit-down interview she gave about her cancer since her first diagnosis in 2006. It was conducted by Charles Ornstein of the Los Angeles Times. He’s the investigative journalist who broke the story of Farrah’s medical information having been breached by an employee of UCLA and leaked to the National Enquirer. The story ran on the front page of the Los Angeles Times with the headline “Farrah Fawcett: Under a Microscope and Holding onto Hope.”


As for Farrah wanting me “booted” off the project? Well, suddenly there are an awful lot of people speaking for her—and stating with absolute certainty as to what it was that Farrah wanted. And, perhaps even more importantly, when she wanted it: around the time she was checked into the hospital, a day or two after returning from Germany in that wheelchair. Ryan picked her up and “wheeled” her into her condo. After that she was bedridden and he ... well ... he just “moved in” ... so to speak. The rest of the story I probably should refrain from talking about right now.

What happened earlier—in September 2008? According to your lawsuit, Ryan tried to pull the plug on your involvement with the documentary. And what was the dialogue between you, Farrah and Ryan in the ensuing six or seven months?
Because Ryan had been asking to see it, Farrah showed him our work-in-progress on A Wing & A Prayer. A day or two later, he called to tell me that he thought it was “pretty good” and that he remained “haunted” by many of he scenes.

But he did have one suggestion: “How about changing the title to Bare Bones?” Because, as Ryan saw it, the footage was “raw” and Farrah was “raw” from treatment. The documentary itself would be the “bare bones” of cancer. I politely told Ryan that it was an “interesting” idea and that I would speak to Farrah about it. I did. And she said no. It was a short conversation. The documentary was to be called A Wing & A Prayer. Thank God.


But then came Ryan’s next suggestion for a title change: Farrah’s Story. But this time he had made the suggestion directly to Farrah. However I knew the answer before she gave it to him: This was not to be Love Story. And it was not to be about her relationship—either on or off—with him. She and I had already had that conversation when I included a similar reference in an early synopsis (proposing their relationship) as the “C Story” behind the “A Story” of cancer and the “B Story” of protecting her privacy. Farrah had very quickly corrected me that “this” wasn’t “that.” For a lot of reasons.

In a matter of days, I received another call from Ryan. He wanted me to pack up all the cuts, footage and contracts, specifically the NBC contract, and deliver them to a producer of his choosing. And he wanted it done right then, at that moment. He said: “Don’t even call the office. You don’t need an appointment; you’re just dropping everything off. Go now.” Obviously, I didn’t do it. Instead, I called Farrah. She seemed surprised and a bit angry—especially about his demand for our contract. That’s when she made it very clear to me: “Never give anyone—including Ryan—the footage or the contract.” I asked her if that was the “official answer” she wanted me to give him. She said, “No.” This was something she would handle herself .

Farrah did “speak” with Ryan but I’m not sure how much good it did. Because their conversation prompted yet another phone call from him. He was furious with me for “disobeying” him—which was a little odd considering I didn’t work for him or even with him. He had no contract and was never a producer on this project as per Farrah. So he tried to take a different kind of authority by telling me that I was causing Farrah pain and I needed to do everything that he was telling me to do—for her sake. I tried to calm him down but it was no use. He yelled: “You’re not going to win this one!” I still don’t know what that means.

Ryan and I had never fought, at least not to my knowledge. In fact, Farrah was always amazed that we got along because she said that Ryan didn’t like most of the people in her life. Anyway, he was going on and on. But I never raised my voice—again, as far as I was concerned we had nothing to fight about. But Ryan saw it differently. His final words to me that day were the final words he has ever spoken to me: “If you take me on, I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you in Farrah’s life and then I’ll kill you in real life!” Then he hung up.


I told Farrah everything except the part about him threatening to kill me. I did not have the heart to burden her with that kind of information given what she was already dealing with. My gut was to file a police report given Ryan’s violent past. But I didn’t. Because that would have meant Farrah’s name would be mentioned—which would have guaranteed more headlines. Instead, I made a point of telling several others about the threat, in detail. And kept looking back over my shoulder for awhile.

In the meantime, Farrah and I went on as we always had: on a wing and a prayer.

What were Farrah’s intentions with this documentary that she articulated to you? And did she go into this with the wisdom of, “There’s a reason I got cancer, and there’s a reason I’m a celebrity, and I’m gonna do something to change policies and change people’s lives”?
No, not at first. But it became that very quickly.

The documentary began with Farrah taking her own camera to get her test results from her doctors at UCLA. She wasn’t sure why she did it. And she wasn’t sure it was something she would ever want to watch again since it was bad news (her cancer had recurred after slightly less than three months). But about week later, Farrah asked her assistant, Mike Pingel, to burn a copy of the tape to a DVD for me. She said, “Take it, watch it. Maybe it’s something.” I said, “What do you mean?” She said, “I don’t know. Isn’t that your job to figure out?” I said, “Oh, like a PSA or something?” She said, “I don’t know. But I like that I’m not in it.” What she meant is that you could hear her voice but you couldn’t see her (because she was behind the camera). So it was her POV of the three doctors giving her the grim news. A couple of weeks later, after Farrah had given me that original footage she shot, she made the decision to go to Germany.


And that was because she didn’t want the colostomy bag that her doctors at UCLA recommended?
That’s actually not the reason. But a lot of people believe it was based on some very misleading and irresponsible narration that was shoehorned in by “other producers” and read, inexplicably, by Dr. (Lawrence) Piro (Farrah’s American oncologist). What “somehow” got obscured from our cut to the broadcast version was this crucial information: When cancer metastasizes from the anus/rectum into the liver, as it did with Farrah, a colostomy bag would have simply been a Band-Aid on a bullet wound. Because the cancer in the liver—which was still anal cancer—couldn’t be dealt with or removed and replaced by a colostomy bag.

Both Farrah and I were told (by her doctors in Germany) that once cancer spreads from one organ to another, most American doctors give up. They simply tell the patient to spend time with loved ones and make themselves as comfortable as possible. This was reinforced by the lack of a pro-active plan from Farrah’s doctors at UCLA. Farrah said repeatedly that they did not, could not, offer her any options. When they recommended the colostomy bag, they had not yet discovered that the cancer had spread to the liver. So for the record: Farrah did not choose to leave the country in order to avoid (surgery to receive) a colostomy bag. That option ceased to be an option when the next set of scans came in.

I’d also like to correct some similar medical misinformation about why Farrah lost her hair. As I understand it, the chemo used to treat anal cancer usually does not make one’s hair fall out. However, a chemo that had not been available for Farrah when she was first diagnosed suddenly became available for her later. That’s why—and when—she lost her hair, because of this newly available chemo. To my knowledge, she never avoided a recommended chemo to spare her hair.

I don’t know why that misinformation was “written” into the documentary—other than (because) Alexandra Gleysteen, the former Dateline NBC producer who came on to oversee post production about a month before broadcast, seemed intent to make whatever statement she ended up making about people getting their sense of self or power from their hair. That was Ms. Gleysteen’s opinion, as expressed to me in my living room, not Farrah’s opinion. So why did Dr. Piro read that “script?” Perhaps that’s a question that he should answer himself.

At any rate, as I was saying, Farrah made the medical decision to go to Germany to seek the help and hope that she couldn’t find in America.


Trying to leave the country, ironically, subjected Farrah to more paparrazi than perhaps doing anything else in and around Los Angeles. The airport is a hassle for anybody. But it always seemed to be a particular hassle for Farrah.
Which is why I started following her to the airport with my camera. I did this for two reasons. The National Enquirer had already outed her condition and it was basically open season on Farrah in terms of the tabloid press and paparazzi. So if anyone crossed the line with her, invaded the privacy of her personal space on her way to the doctor, even via LAX, then we were going to make them the story. That’s the conversation I had with Farrah. And that’s the approach she decided she wanted to take during her cancer fight—which is why she asked me to release the statement that I did on her behalf (see image below).


In other words, if anyone invaded her privacy they would become the story. Not her cancer. It’s ironic. I went from chasing Farrah with my camera to protecting Farrah with my camera. If you look back at the coverage of Farrah from May 2007 on, you’ll see variation after variation on this theme. Of course it all came to a head with the ultimate invasion—at least at the time—of Farrah’s privacy (when) an employee of UCLA sold Farrah’s medical information to the National Enquirer. But we were able to turn that one around on them, too. But for that we needed the help of investigative journalist Charles Ornstein (then of the Los Angeles Times), U.S. Attorney Thomas P. O’Brien, Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger and the State Health Department, and the FBI.

The second reason I filmed Farrah at the airport was because she had previously asked me to see if her early footage (shot at UCLA) was “something.” I thought it was but I wasn’t sure what. But I knew that whatever it was, it wasn’t enough by itself. So I shot Farrah leaving the United States for Germany. Beat by beat, a story began unfolding.

However, leaving the country wasn’t quite as easy for Farrah as she thought it would be. In the past her passports had been stolen and sold. As a result of recovering some of the old ones, she accidentally grabbed the wrong one from her safe. This outdated passport was not going to get her to Germany. So she went back home to get the current one. In the meantime, Ryan and I waited for her and her friend Joan Dangerfield, who went to Germany with Farrah on this first trip, at the bar. I turned on my camera—this is in the show—and talked to Ryan about the purpose of the trip. He explained it was to try to find a cure for her cancer. He was real, he was honest, he was touching. It was the complete opposite of how he came off when he decided to step in and try to make A Wing & A Prayer into a sequel to Love Story called Farrah’s Story.


What communication did you have with Farrah during her trips to Germany?
Farrah called me from Germany every three or four days if she could. But it was only a couple days into her trip that she told me, “You know, I think there are things here, treatments, people need to hear about. I don’t know why we (in America) don’t do some of these tests. I don’t know why we don’t know about some of these treatments. And you know what? It’s all on film. Alana and Joan have been filming everything with my little camera.” I said, “It sounds like what we’re talking about is a documentary or special.” She said, “Oh, I don’t like the term ‘special.’” I told her, “We’ll find another term.”

Of course the term we eventually came up with for the documentary was “video diary”— which we would base on her real cancer diary. Before she left for Germany I gave her several blank, faux leather journals to write and draw in during her trip. I gave these to her for her own artistic therapy, as I knew she would be in bed much of the time. And when she came back and showed me what she had done, I said, “This is it. This and the home movies (combined) are the project.” She said, “See? I told you I’d figure out.” I laughed and said, “I thought I just figured that out?” And she said, “But I figured out that I should let you figure it out!”

She was kidding—but not. That’s the way she and I worked. Just like our first meeting about what would become Chasing Farrah: I listened to her thoughts and feelings. Then I repeated them back to her in my own words or terms. After that, she would then adjust my adjustment. It was a true, creative collaboration. But don’t misunderstand. The work I did with Farrah always began with her and ended with her. We spoke the same language: her language. Fortunately, I was a good listener and a fast learner when it came to “Farrah Speak.”


So this project started out in somewhat of a free form? And on good faith?
That’s right. But about nine months later, when we had a significant 40-minute presentation reel, Farrah decided it was time for us to show it to a few select broadcasters. The higher-ups at NBC made it clear they wanted A Wing & A Prayer on their network after I screened it for Doug Vaughan, the vice-president of alternative programming and specials, in my living room. (Farrah didn’t want the footage sent out). Up until that point Farrah and I were working free form, in private, and on good faith. I would describe it as working on a handshake—except that not even a hand-shake was necessary between us.

Why do you think that was?
It all goes back to the reality series we did. She said yes to me after saying no to everyone else who pitched her for three years. Producers and companies much bigger than me—FOX, VH1 and E!, for example—had tried but couldn’t get her to say yes. And when she said yes to me, I thought, “Wow! This is great! Farrah is really going to help my career!”

But much later, about halfway through her cancer fight, I realized that Chasing Farrah wasn’t really about her helping me. It was about putting me in the position to be able to help her. So that she could help others. She was comfortable with me shooting her or having others turn over footage they had shot to me. My company had already filmed her and Ryan together in his home, something that they had never allowed anyone else to do—before or after. I had filmed Farrah with her parents in their home in Texas. And again, as Farrah herself had previously told me, “I don’t let a lot of people in. And once you get in, there’s no getting out.” She was right.


I’m not saying that she didn’t want Alana and others (including Joan Dangerfield and Kate Jackson) to film her. She did. Farrah was comfortable with that idea—as long as all the footage was turned over to me for protecting, vetting and editing. At the time, both Farrah and I thought that’s what Alana was doing: turning over the home videos, shot on one of several cameras that Farrah owned, to me. It turns out we were wrong. According to Ryan’s comments to the New York Post, he ordered Alana to stop cooperating with me —even though he was not a producer on the video diary and had nothing to do with its production. ("Almost a year ago, we started to lose faith in this guy. Stewart stopped turning over things to him on my instruction," O’Neal told the New York Post.)

I’m not saying that Farrah didn’t love Ryan and Alana but I know she had trust issues with both of them.

What kind of trust issues did she have with them?
Farrah didn’t enter into business partnerships with either of them. Well, I guess that’s not completely true. According to Farrah, she had tried twice with Ryan before and both times were a disaster. They were owners or investors in a gym but she ended up selling him her piece of it. Farrah told me that she wanted out because she found Ryan too difficult to work with, too controlling. The other time was when they co-starred in Good Sports, which, by all accounts, was turbulent at best.

As far as I know, Farrah never again entered into any contract with him as a business partner. She certainly was adamant about not entering into a marriage contract with him—in spite of his boasts to Barbara Walters that that she had said yes to his proposal on her deathbed and he would “nod her head” for her at the ceremony. Meanwhile, they hadn’t lived together in over a decade. And according to those I’ve spoken with, including Farrah, Ryan was not named in her will and would have no control over their son’s inheritance or her trust.



And trust issues with Alana?
Farrah was very aware that Alana used her name to get freebies or discounts wherever and whenever she could. Like those designer pajamas that they’re both wearing on the cover of People Magazine (to promote yet another use of Farrah’s name by Alana: her new book called My Journey with Farrah.). Anyway, Alana would call a store or a company and use Farrah’s name to get free products—everything in sets of two, of course. That’s why you see Alana dressed so similarly to Farrah so often. I heard other, similar stories about cosmetics, jewelery, trips, etc.

The more public Alana was with the use of Farrah’s name, the more it seemed to bother her. Which is not to say that Farrah wasn’t generous with her. She was. Farrah would help out her from time to time over the years, using her influence to get her hired in a bit part or paying her an inflated fee for running the video camera during parts of her cancer fight. I’m not going to deny that Farrah had fun shopping and gossiping with Alana. But Farrah sometimes wondered if Alana would really want to be her friend if she was not famous. In fact, Farrah sometimes joked about it. She said that after being Mrs Rod Stewart and Mrs. George Hamilton, the only thing left for Alana was to be “Mr. Farrah Fawcett.” It was a very funny comment. But at the same time, it wasn’t funny at all.

But you felt Farrah trusted you?
Farrah once said to the vice-president of TV Land, with a completely straight face: “Are you sure Craig’s really a producer? Because he doesn’t seem to lie to me. Hmmm. So I guess that means he’s not an agent or a manager either. I don’t know what he is. Can ya’all look into it and get back to me?” Of course what she was really doing was complimenting me in front of my network bosses. She was just doing it in her own entertaining, inimitable style.


But Farrah was never confused about our relationship. Not professionally and not personally. I really can’t explain it because we don’t appear to have much in common. But we worked well together and had fun doing it. We became friends as well as producing partners. But, by the way, that doesn’t mean we were equal partners. Farrah was always the boss—although she rarely pulled rank. I guess I never gave her reason. So, yes, there was trust and good faith between us. Five years worth, actually: two and a half years when she was healthy and then two and a half years while she was sick.

But you did enter into a formal agreement with Farrah in April 2008, forming a production company. Why was that?
That was at the point when NBC said they wanted to license A Wing & A Prayer. Knowing that it was not appropriate for my company, Windmill Entertainment, to own the documentary—even though we were producing it—I suggested that we form a separate company in which Farrah would be the majority owner. So we formed Sweetened By Risk LLC.

It sounds like you had a solid relationship and a solid contract with Farrah. So what caused you to file a lawsuit against Ryan O’Neal, his business manager and Alana Stewart? What went wrong?
Farrah’s cancer went wrong. She got sicker in February 2009. She didn’t feel any sicker but her test results showed otherwise. So she left for Germany and came back in a wheelchair at the end of March. A few days later, she checked into a hospital. The news that she was “dying” went around the world and back again. Without a source. She became a most popular search or read on many Internet sites. That’s what prompted NBC to say, “She really is still one of the most famous people in the world. We need this show on the air now. As soon as possible.”

But Farrah had given me the contractual right to make all business and creative decisions if she was unable to for health reasons. And that would include the air date, which had to be mutually approved by our company and the network. However, I wasn’t going to ‘OK’ an air date without seeing her—which Ryan and his business manager wouldn’t allow me to do. They banned me from seeing or talking to Farrah for what turned out to be the rest of her life.


And it was about this time, when they isolated her from me, that Ryan and Alana took steps to take over the documentary through his business manager and Farrah’s and my former attorneys who filed our company’s Articles of Organization with the state. Suddenly, Ryan and his business manager claimed to have Farrah’s “Power of Attorney”—although they refused to show it to me.

To this day, I haven’t seen any document entitled “Power of Attorney.” Although I have seen other documents which they claim negate the operating agreement that Farrah and I signed when we formed Sweetened By Risk LLC. They claim the other documents also void the rights Farrah invested with me on her behalf and on our company’s behalf should health events interfere with her ability to continue the work. These new documents were signed with a scrawled, scrunched signature that they claim is Farrah’s.

And it was on the basis of at least one of these documents that NBC proceeded to broadcast the program, changing its title to Farrah’s Story—how ironic—and drop in sound bite interviews that primarily focused on Ryan’s and Alana’s heartbreak and hope, and what effects Farrah’s cancer had on them. I was embarrassed for all of us—including Ryan and Alana, who seem to have become blissfully disconnected to the effect that their narcissistic monologues have on Farrah’s legacy or even their own reputations. But don’t take my opinion for it. Read Ryan’s interview with Vanity Fair or Alana’s recent book, both of which were supposed to have been tributes to Farrah, and decide for yourself.

Your suit in part aims to regain creative control of Farrah’s Story and the 100 hours or so of footage shot for it. What are your goals with this project?
My goals are the same as they have always been: to execute Farrah’s artistic vision and deliver the message that she wanted delivered. In short, I want to fix the damage that was done to our film by restoring all the work that Farrah and I did and then finish it. The rest of the world has yet to see the film and there is a beneficial afterlife for it on cable, on DVD and for healthcare facilities. Also for various charities if they would like to hold screenings and such to raise money.

By the way, your original title, A Wing and a Prayer, was so much better.
Thanks. Farrah liked the imagery and what it said—and fact that it referenced or implied hope, faith, angels and the idea of flying in order to find safety.

If you regain control of this project, would you pitch a new version to NBC?
No. Um, no. Not unless I had to, contractually.

What changes would you make to NBC’s cut? Would you cut out some of the more graphic “death” scenes?
Absolutely. Because that’s sinking to the levels of the tabloids. It’s what Farrah was against. Like the scene with her son, Redmond, in chains and shackles, when he comes to visit Farrah, who does not appear to be conscious. And the various scenes from her last trip to Germany, which Alana withheld in order to try to get more money and a better credit. Farrah doesn’t appear to be completely lucid in that footage. And since neither Farrah nor I was ever shown that video to approve its inclusion, well, I think it was in bad taste and totally exploitative of everyone.

Again, Alessandra Stanley makes the point for me in her New York Times review. She writes, “It was clear that Ms. Fawcett wanted to take back her story from the paparazzi and the celebrity magazines and have some control over its telling. Yet sadly, her film stylistically mirrors some of the worst excesses of our tabloid culture.”



Why did you file suit two days before NBC aired the special in May?
I didn’t need to wait for the reviews to know that what Ryan and Alana did to Farrah’s real story was cheap and exploitative. That’s why I filed suit before the program aired and before it was reviewed. I didn’t want to be accused of “sour grapes” or making excuses to justify the work Farrah and I had done—in other words claiming that what was considered powerful or even artistic about the film was our work and what was considered to be awful and artless was theirs.

Although others advised me to hold off filing suit until later, perhaps waiting until after Farrah passed away and the documentary had aired, I knew that I couldn’t. I needed to demonstrate foresight, not hindsight. And I needed to operate as if Farrah would or could rebound. That’s what governed my words and actions: the hope that I would still have Farrah to answer to. Because if I did, if she came out of her medicated haze and downward spiral and truly saw what Ryan and Alana were doing, I firmly believe that she would have instructed me to cut them out of the documentary or at least minimize their presence.

Farrah had a long fuse. But once that fuse burned down and ignited an explosion, she would go nuclear. And I do not say this as a criticism. I never saw her go nuclear on someone without good reason. She was a generous, forgiving and understanding person. But she did not, could not, suffer fools or liars or cowards. If she had recovered, and if I hadn’t acted when I did as I did, I would have had her to explain myself to. Because, in my opinion, she would have tossed Ryan and Alana out on their asses. And then, after she fired or sued everyone who helped them, she would have turned to me and asked: “Where were you?”

But I’m digressing. My point is that I had to act when I did.


Ryan O’Neal’s publicist, Paul Bloch, criticized you for your timing in a statement he gave to TMZ, who broke the story. (Bloch told TMZ, "I am shocked by this type of behavior. Here’s a woman who everyone knows has been ill and to do something like this is horrific. This has been a very difficult time for Ryan O'Neal. When you see something like this you have to question the motives of someone who can be so hurtful during this very sensitive time in a person's life.")
By the way, Mr. Bloch seems to have forgotten to deny any of my allegations about Ryan and Alana. Instead, this veteran publicist at a highly respected and well-established PR firm criticized me for the timing of my lawsuit. The timing. In the same breath he goes on to say what a difficult time this has been—for Ryan!

By the way, this was not such a difficult time as to prevent Ryan from playing multiple games of paddleball and going to a Van Morrison concert in the days immediately preceding my lawsuit. But shouldn’t he have been at Farrah’s bedside? Or maybe in the editing room saving her documentary? Maybe he was counting on Alana to do the re-editing. After all, she seems more than qualified to be the producer in charge because of her experience as a former model, a bit part actress, a failed talk show host, the ex-wife of George Hamilton, the ex-wife of Rod Stewart, and someone who, by her own admission, did not know how to work a home video camera.

But in answer to your original question: Yes, I would restore and then complete A Wing & A Prayer to be Farrah’s complete story. With her true message intact. All of which would mean the tone would be closer to what Farrah expressed she wanted from the start: emphasizing hope and not heartbreak, life and not death. I mean, for Ryan and Alana and the former Dateline NBC producer to cut from Farrah appearing to be half-dead in bed to Melissa Etheridge’s uplifting and inspirational song “I Run for Life”—which was Farrah’s favorite part of the documentary as edited by my team—diminished both that specific sequence and the project as a whole. The juxtaposition made the documentary feel like we were proffering false hope, complete with a smiling and laughing Farrah as the final shot, right before “SPECIAL THANKS TO RYAN O’NEAL” appeared on screen.


Perhaps the documentary’s most stunning image was Farrah getting her famous hair shaved off. Was Farrah fine with filming this?
Farrah was fine filming everything, knowing two things: all footage would be immediately turned over to me for vetting—which I did personally without any editor or assistant present so as to protect her privacy—and she would have final cut. In terms of her hair loss, I was the one in her bathroom filming her close friend (and hair stylist) Mela Murphy cutting her hair. That’s when her hair started coming out. She handled it so great, with good humor and even song. Farrah and Mela sang “I just wanna grow up to be an old woman . . .” Farrah knew she wanted that in even before I had turned the camera off. She was right. It was an inspired and completely original moment between two friends. It showed how they chose to face the enormous uncertainty of the future by grabbing hold of the first thing they could find to offer comfort or normalcy in the present—a song.

But in terms of her bald head, she warned me before I saw that footage that she was on the fence about it. On the one hand, she thought it was important. On the other hand, she didn’t know if it was too exploitative. She wondered if just showing the hair thinning (with Mela) was enough. Farrah decided that she wanted to see it in context after I edited it. But ultimately, she was 90 percent sure it needed to be there. But 90 percent is not 100 percent. She never got to make that final decision. Alana made the decision for her. And it was never, under any circumstances, Alana’s decision to make. In Farrah’s absence, for health-related reasons, she had signed over her creative and business authority to me regarding our company and the documentary.

Now, in this case, Alana happened to make the right call, in my opinion. Farrah was leaning toward including the footage, and I planned on urging her to do the same. But she never got the chance to make that decision or even see that footage. Alana ignored Farrah’s wishes as to who she entrusted to make decisions and violated her right to privacy in doing so. Nowhere is that more evident than when she shot Farrah barely conscious—if she was conscious at all—in her bedroom. Her own bedroom. Again, Farrah was fine with having everything (related to cancer) filmed in order to consider its use. But that was only with the knowledge that the footage was going directly to me and no one else, including NBC. It was a betrayal.


What do you think Farrah would’ve said about filming her son visiting her in shackles?
Ryan and Alana had always planned to film Redmond coming to say goodbye to his mother on what appeared to be her death bed. After all, Ryan and Alana were serious “filmmakers” now. To my dying day I will insist, no matter who may claim otherwise, that Farrah would not have approved of shooting Redmond in a prison jumpsuit and chains. His challenges were not directly relevant to her cancer or its potential cure.

Farrah would also not have approved of many of the vidcaps that were released to promote the documentary. Do an internet image search. Close-ups of Farrah as she is vomiting. Close-ups of her shaved head. Close-ups of her crying. Farrah preferred mystery, revelation. She wanted viewers to tune in and experience her journey with her as she was experiencing it. She never would have allowed Ryan to do interviews with People Magazine or to promote her most personal of projects by saying: "The hair is gone. Her famous hair. I have it at home. She didn't care. I rub her head. It's kind of fun, actually, this tiny little head.” I was stunned.

After fighting to protect her medical privacy until she herself chose when and how to release such information—even going so far as to set up a “sting” in order to prove to UCLA that one of their employees was leaking her records to the National Enquirer—she was betrayed by those who claimed to know her best and have her best interests at heart. With friends like these, who needs the tabloids?

Doesn’t sound like you’re going to drop your lawsuit anytime soon?
I’m not. I can’t. Farrah trusted me. She was a good partner and a good person. A lot of fun as a friend. She was a talented actress and artist. And an inspiration to millions around the world—not just fans but also her fellow cancer patients and their families.

Of course Farrah’s also been an icon since 1976. And it’s not every day—or even every lifetime—that you get the chance to know an icon. Let alone protect one.


EDITOR'S NOTE: This interview is an expression of free speech. The subjects and events discussed are newsworthy in that they are currently of interest and concern to the public, if not already public record (in whole or in part). The opinions expressed herein are just that: opinions. One person’s point-of-view based on that person’s own knowledge, experience and relationships. If you have an opposing opinion based on your own personal experience with the specific subject matter and/or events discussed above, I would gladly consider your request to be interviewed concerning the same material.

Copyright 2009, Retroality.TV/Chris Mann

"FARRAH'S STORY" EMMY EXCLUSIVE: Producer Craig Nevius tells why he sued Farrah's lover, Ryan O'Neal, and "self-proclaimed best friend" Alana Stewart

Craig Nevius interview: part one of a two-part Retroality.TV exclusive leading up to the Creative Arts Emmys on Sept. 12

By Chris Mann
Retroality.TV Editor

Less than three months after losing her brave three-year battle with anal cancer, Farrah Fawcett may win her first Emmy this month for her groundbreaking final act, NBC’s controversial documentary Farrah’s Story. But for the late icon’s co-nominated exec producer, the legal war to tell Fawcett’s full fight-for-life story has only just begun.

In this explosive two-part interview, Fawcett’s business partner, Craig Nevius, tells Retroality.TV how he came to “protect” Fawcett only to lose control of their NBC project to her longtime lover, Ryan O’Neal, Fawcett pal Alana Stewart and O'Neal's business manager. Nevius sued all three for interfering in Farrah's proposed "video diary" as Fawcett lay dying last spring. The beloved actress passed away on June 25, six weeks after NBC aired Farrah's Story to nearly 9 million viewers and mixed reviews.

Click here for part two of this interview.

You shared quite a journey with Farrah. Both of you had varied backgrounds—film, TV, stage, drama, comedy—that intersected on Chasing Farrah. And with the groundbreaking cancer documentary, which ironically became the role of her lifetime, she really completed the circle. Would she agree that she did it all?

I had that conversation with her once in her kitchen. I’m not sure she saw it that way. She seemed to have some passing regret about opportunities she didn’t take in terms of accepting some roles in some blockbuster, critically-acclaimed movies. I remember telling her that I thought her place in pop culture was already more firmly established than those couple missed roles in the movies could have ever established. To millions of people around the world she was something bigger than a movie star: She was a pop culture icon. And as a television star, she came into our homes. As a poster, she was taped to a lot of bedroom walls.

During this conversation, which was before she was ever ill, I told her: “You’re going to be remembered for the role you were born to play: ‘Farrah.’” She said, “Oh, no! Don’t say that! I don’t want to be remembered for that!” I laughed and said, “I don’t think you have a choice. Yes, you’ll be remembered for Charlie’s Angels, the poster, the hair and the teeth. And The Burning Bed, Extremities, Small Sacrifices and The Apostle. Maybe even some of the commercials. And Letterman”—which she never really minded because she liked Dave; she did his show more than any other besides Johnny Carson.

I tried to express to her that she would be remembered for more than the sum of her parts. I shared my opinion that “‘Farrah’ is the role of your lifetime.” At the time, I didn’t know how right I would be in terms of how she would touch the world with her cancer documentary.


She told you in Chasing Farrah that she didn’t like people to “put (her) in a box.” And though she often transcended the medium as an artist, America liked Farrah just fine in the ultimate box—television.
I don’t look at television as the poor second cousin to movies. I’ve done some movies. My first writing job in Hollywood was a theatrical release: Happy Together, which starred Patrick Dempsey and Helen Slater. And it was Brad Pitt’s first movie. It came right at the end of the whole teen movie craze that John Hughes had started. That was ‘89/’90 and I was barely out of high school myself.

But I have always preferred television, for all the reasons I discussed with Farrah that day in her kitchen. And she was a true product of the medium, although she was more partial to art films and foreign movies growing up. When you think about it, Farrah did almost everything there was to do in television: influential commercials (Noxzema, Ultra-Brite and Mercury-Cougar), memorable guest spots on classic sitcoms (I Dream of Jeannie, The Flying Nun and The Partridge Family), blockbuster series (Charlie’s Angels), groundbreaking movies (The Burning Bed, Small Sacrifices), public service announcements (for the American Cancer Society and against Domestic Violence), talk show appearances worthy of both ratings and reviews (The Late Show with David Letterman), a controversial pay-per-view special (Playboy’s All of Me), recurring roles on popular series (Spin City and Ally McBeal), cartoon voices (Johnny Bravo and The Brave Little Toaster) and a reality series (Chasing Farrah). She had even done a documentary (Prisoners of Wedlock). Little did I know that day in her kitchen that she would have another documentary in her, unfortunately.

Sadly, her first and only Emmy, if Farrah’s Story wins Best Nonfiction Special, will be awarded posthumously.
As I think about it, Farrah didn’t really do all there was to do in television. The one thing she never did was to be honored by the medium she worked in for 40 years. Yes, she’s been nominated for three acting Emmys (for The Burning Bed, Small Sacrifices and The Guardian), but she’s never won. It’s something we talked about. I told her, I promised her, once before she got sick and then again after her diagnosis: “You’re gonna win an Emmy. And I’m gonna be part of it.” She said, “I hope so, but I don’t know. If they didn’t give it to me for The Burning Bed, I don’t think they ever will.” I asked her if she wanted to bet one of her Warhol paintings.


Were you thinking she’d win an Emmy for acting?
Yes. After Chasing Farrah we started developing other projects to produce together and for her to star in. One of them we actually had set up—and nobody really knows because she got sick before we could sign the deals. It was for an updated version of Auntie Mame. Not the musical; the book. As much as Farrah liked to sing, neither one of us thought that would be a great idea for her. But she did think playing a modern Mame did have potential when I brought the concept to her.

In one of the episodes of Chasing Farrah she talked about getting older. She didn’t seem to mind it, despite what Ryan O’Neal claimed in his Vanity Fair interview that was supposed to be a tribute to her. She always told me she wanted to find different roles than she had ever been allowed to play before. As she put it: “I want my Driving Miss Daisy.”

Would Auntie Mame have been her Driving Miss Daisy?
I don’t know—but it could have been. It’s a great part: Mame is an eccentric, sexy, free-spirited aunt who ends up with custody of her brother’s straight-laced little boy who’s very, very serious-minded. And here’s this wild, immature-for-her-age aunt who suddenly has to learn how to be a grown up while teaching the kid how to be, well, a kid. She teaches him how to live and he teaches her how to grow up—a little.

It’s been a book, a play, a musical, a movie. Most of the actresses who played the part either won awards or were nominated for them: Roslyn Russell, Angela Lansbury, Lucille Ball. Farrah said that she related to the part because it’s essentially about parenthood. Even though every man who met Mame falls in love with her, the love of her life turned out to be a little boy. And that’s how it was in Farrah’s life. The love of Farrah’s life was her son.

Was this a conscious decision on Farrah’s part to move into producing—or at least start to develop roles or material for herself?
I don’t think it was a conscious plan. But it was a good way for us to work together. But Farrah was smart: She knew that as she got older there were less and less great parts for actresses in their late 50s and early 60s. I mean she was offered roles all the time; but they weren’t great parts. She turned almost everything down over the last five years. But she was offered a good part a few months before she passed. It was for a recurring role on John Wells’ series Southland.

How did her rapidly declining health factor into this offer?
They didn’t realize how sick she was because of the footage I had just released of her to the news. It was part of an interview I shot for her documentary where she blasts the paparazzi for trying to get a picture of her in a wheelchair. That (interview footage) was released in (early) April of this year when she returned from what would be her last trip to Germany.

As everyone knows by now, she came back in a wheelchair and was ambushed by the paparazzi at LAX. They got their picture. But I made a deal with the entertainment news shows: I will give you sound bytes of Farrah from her first and only “cancer interview” for free if you do not buy or broadcast those wheelchair pictures. Everyone except Entertainment Tonight took me up on it; they’re bottom feeders, by the way, no better than the National Enquirer, in my opinion.


I had asked Farrah’s self-proclaimed best friend, Alana Stewart, to use her influence at Entertainment Tonight to try to stop them from broadcasting those pictures of Farrah in a wheelchair. The show used to employ Alana’s daughter and Alana gets interviewed on it pretty much every chance she gets. Supposedly, Alana talked to them but they ran the pictures anyway. Later, Alana called me and said: “Well, at least they ran only the ‘good wheelchair pictures.’” I said, “You’ve got to be kidding me. Did that just come out of your mouth?”

Anyway, like I said, the other shows stepped up and decided to respect Farrah’s privacy. EXTRA and Access Hollywood even blasted other shows that did air the pictures. Billy Bush opened Access Hollywood with something along the lines of: “Pictures of Farrah in a wheelchair have caused a feeding frenzy among the usual suspects. You won’t see those pictures here.” I had never seen a show open that way. They basically said: “You’re not going to see tonight’s top story.” Instead they showed the footage I provided of Farrah lashing out against the paparazzi and tabloids for invading her privacy.

The point being, she looked so good in the footage (shot in 2008) that John Wells’ people didn’t think she was as ill as she was when they offered her a terrific part. So, Farrah was in demand up until the end. She remained relevant as an actress and as, well, “Farrah”—as our documentary proved.


How did you and Farrah end up working together?
There was absolutely no reason why we should have. We had a rocky, unsuccessful start in 2003. My company wanted to produce a Charlie’s Angels reunion. We had a unique approach to bringing the ladies back together that would not require working with the original producers or rights holders to the franchise. I guess you could call it “scripted reality.”

We approached Kate Jackson first and, after putting us through our paces, she said yes. And Jaclyn Smith was on board if Farrah and Kate were. So it all seemed to come down to Farrah saying yes after having said no to doing a reunion for 30 years. Kate introduced me to her and, by the end of our first meeting, Farrah was on board. CBS wanted the project but the deals proved very difficult to close and the project went south.

But afterwards I got a call from Farrah. She said she was sorry it didn’t work out the way we had all hoped but she thought I had handled everything fairly and treated everyone with respect. She also said she liked that I held firm and was willing to fight for what I believed was right. This was an amazing phone call considering the project just went down in flames. Farrah ended the call by telling me she would be open to listening to any other project I wanted to bring her in the future. Six or seven months later I contacted her about a project that would eventually be called Chasing Farrah.

And how did that come about?
I had just produced a pilot for TV Land when Sal Maniaci, the vice president of the network, happened to mention that they had been trying to sign Farrah to do a reality show for two or three years. I said, “Oh, really? Let me try.” He said, “Okay. But we’ve already pitched her, wined her and dined her, sent her gifts. We’ve offered her lots of money. She doesn’t want to do it. She just hates reality shows.”

When I met with Farrah she said the same thing. In fact the first hour or so of our meeting was spent with me listening in silence as she recited a laundry list of the reasons she would never do a reality series. Including the fact that she didn’t find reality series real. She said, “How can it be real if you don’t acknowledge the camera in your face? I mean, no one walks around being followed by cameras in real life. Well, unless you’re me I guess.” I said, “Exactly. And that’s the show.” She asked, “What’s the show?”

And I said, “You don’t want to do a reality show. Why would you? You’re one of the most famous and photographed women in the world, why would you let cameras further into your life? Why would you open yourself up to that kind of invasion of privacy that could spawn more headlines in the tabloids? The answer is: You’re not going to open yourself up to us. At least not at first and not easily. How far can we get into your life? If we cross a line, you’ll tell us by acknowledging the camera and slamming a door in our face. It’ll be a reality show about the making of reality show—that just happens to star Farrah Fawcett.” She thought about it for a second and then clarified it for both us: “So ya’all are in the show, too? And you’re chasing me?” I said yes: “The show is Chasing Farrah.” She was silent again for a few moments—something by all accounts, including her own, she rarely was—and then said, “I like that.”

And that really set the tone for how Farrah and I worked together. How we collaborated, creatively. It was give and take. Later I admitted to her: “I couldn’t believe you said yes. I hardly said anything at the meeting.” And she said, “But you listened real good.”


So she appreciated that you clearly took her words seriously.
As we got to know each other I realized that this was a big issue with her. Farrah often felt like those around her didn’t listen or simply pacified her. I always listened and I never bullshitted her. I respected her as both a celebrity and as an artist. And she trusted me as a result.

In fact, when Chasing Farrah wrapped production she said to me, “Just so you know, I’m a lot like the mob. I don’t let a lot of people in. And once you get in, there’s no getting out.” I laughed and asked her if that was a threat or a compliment. She said, “A little bit of both.”


What were you initial impressions of Farrah?
My initial impression of Farrah were other people’s impressions of her (in that) my agent and manager warned me about her. They said she was a diva. I had seen headlines in the tabloids at the checkout stand. Then of course there was the first Letterman appearance. Kate Jackson told me Farrah was tough. I can tell you, in all honesty, that everybody and everything I heard was wrong. Except for what Kate said. Farrah was tough. But in a good way.

In the five years I worked with her, as both a producer and director, she never said no to me. But she constantly said, “Why?” She was not a wind-up doll who would blindly do what she was directed to do without knowing the reasons as to why she was doing it. Farrah was an artist and a collaborator. She wanted to see the bigger picture—not just her part in it. Fortunately, I always had an answer for “Why?” which would cause her answer to be “yes.” I think her pre-disposition to ask “Why?” was what was mostly responsible for her getting any kind of reputation as being “difficult.” Most producers and directors don’t like to be asked “Why?” by actors. I never minded.

Farrah asked “why” because she cared about what she was doing. In my experience with her, she never phoned it in. She was hands-on and involved, pushing herself and others to think out of the box. But that doesn’t mean that Farrah felt everything she did was 100 percent successful. But one of her favorite sayings was “Life is sweetened by risk.” And that’s what we eventually named the company we formed (to produce Farrah’s Story): Sweetened By Risk LLC.

Farrah was always a risk-taker. I mean, she left Charlie’s Angels after the first blockbuster season. That was an enormous risk that almost killed her career. But life turned out all the sweeter for it in terms of where it eventually led her.


Even after this month’s Vanity Fair story, I don’t think many people know who Farrah really was. She seemed enigmatic in simultaneously wanting to protect and yet at times exploit her image and her most intimate moments. She obviously had major issues with the paparazzi and tabloids invading her privacy. Did she want to reclaim her image and control of her life?
Not re-claim. But claim from the beginning. If you look back, she retained the rights to her poster. And there wasn’t even a real industry for posters at that time. When she was approached about it, she said, “A what? A poster? Well, what am I selling?” The manufactures said, “Nothing. It’s a poster of you.” And she said, “Oh, well, in that case, I should own it.”

And she did. She owned it. I’ve seen the contract from 1976. It was a licensing agreement from the beginning. For two years the company (Pro Arts) in Ohio got to license it, and upon expiration of the deal the copyright was hers. It was a smart move considering that image is now representative of an entire decade—not to mention one of the most famous photographs in pop culture if not the world.

That kind of take-charge business sense flies in the face of her giggly, girlish image.
Well, her father thought she was going to be a boy. He even had the name picked out: Toby Jo. But the boy turned out to be a girl. And Toby Jo became Farrah, which was her mother’s idea. Still, her father raised her as a boy. But her mother raised her as a girl. She always said she had the best of both worlds: baseball and ballet. Farrah was very much a product of her parents.

Her father, Big Jim, taught her to be extremely competitive in sports. Tennis, racquetball, you name it. She’d play anything, even ping-pong. And she played to win. When I interviewed Farrah’s mother shortly before she passed away, she said, “I told Farrah growing up, ‘You’ve gotta let the boys win sometimes, or they’re gonna stop playin’ with you.’” And Farrah would say, “You mean I have to let the boys win if I want to play with them?” She didn’t like that. And that was her father’s influence. He taught her to play to win in everything, including business. He always told her: “Don’t sign anything unless you know what it says.”


Did you ever see her as enigmatic?
I saw her as more of a contradiction. It’s like, “Are you a sex symbol or serious actress? A tabloid celebrity or a role model?” I think she would agree with my opinion that she was a little bit of everything.

For instance, she loved the lyrics to the theme song we used on Chasing Farrah: “I’m a bitch, I’m a lover, I’m a child, I’m a mother. I’m a sinner, I’m a saint. I’m a little bit of everything all rolled into one. So take me as I am . . .” The funny thing is I had chosen that song but the other producers and her representation (at the time) said, “Oh, no! You can’t use that! You’re calling her a bitch! And a sinner!” I said, “I’m not, she is. If she likes the song and approves it.” They all convinced me not to present it to her. Then, at the group meeting when we were talking about different songs, she wrote me a note and slid it down the table. It said, “What is that song called where the lyrics start ‘I’m a bitch, I’m a lover?’ Do you know what I’m talking about?” Obviously, I did.

And that was a big part of our professional and personal relationship. I understood her. Which really goes back to listening to her—which, as I said, was something she felt most people didn’t do. Either they were too quick to agree with her because she was “Farrah” or they automatically disagreed with her because she was “Farrah.” Again, it’s that contradiction.

By the time your paths crossed, she had done Burning Bed and The Apostle. And she had done Playboy twice. America was confused: Is she a giddy, dizzy woman or is she a really grounded, smart, strong chick? By 2004, as she neared 60, do you think she really knew who she was, or was she still finding that out herself?
I think she knew who she was but she remained confused as to why other people were confused. But she began to get some clarity toward the end of the show (Chasing Farrah).

I asked her, on camera, if she had learned anything about her world after doing the series. She said, “Yes. I think I’m smarter than I thought I was. And dumber. But also stronger. And I think I have a right to be the way I am.” What she meant by that last part is that, for the first time, she saw the chaos that swirled around her no matter what she did or where she went. She was able to take a step back and watch (the show). Part of this was the fact that she was contractually allowed to see copies of all the raw footage we shot, whether she was in the scenes or not. So every few days I had boxes of videotape delivered to her home. And she watched them.

What she saw that most interested her was how people acted when she was in the room versus how they acted when she left the room. She saw that people were different. And that everything became exaggerated, either positively or negatively. And she was right. I could see it too. There was no middle ground with how people reacted to her, whether they were strangers or those she knew. And it stayed that way as long as I knew her. After the reality show, she was more aware of the reality of the people around her. In fact, she fired a whole bunch of them.

Farrah is enigmatic to me in another way. On one hand, she was smart enough to keep the rights to her poster. And she never signed her Charlie’s Angels contract; there were licensing issues there. On the other hand, it seemed at times like the men in her life controlled her. Her old manager, Jay Bernstein, said she left Angels because Lee wanted her home early enough every night to cook him dinner.
I talked with Farrah about why she left Charlie’s Angels. And all the stories are partially true. Yes, she left because of the contract dispute over licensing. And yes, she left because she was not feeling challenged by the role. She wanted the producers to show the Angels at home, in their private lives (and) what effect being a private detective had on their relationships. Yes, she was interested in doing movies—but was more interested in good roles wherever they could be found.

And finally, yes, Lee suggested that she use him as an excuse to try to cut down on the 17-hour workdays. After all, Lee was pretty much the biggest male television star in the world. The Six Million Dollar Man was his third hit series behind Big Valley and Owen Marshall—and of course he would have a fourth hit later with The Fall Guy. I’ve talked to Lee about it, too. I developed a project for him about three months before I met Farrah. We sold it to ABC. While the show was never made, Lee and I became friends.


What did Farrah think about your friendship with her long-estranged bionic ex?
That was the only lie I ever told Farrah. And it was a lie by omission. When we started working together on Chasing Farrah, I was afraid to tell her that I knew Lee. I wasn’t sure how she would react because of how nasty the divorce was portrayed in the press. But finally, I told her.

We were talking about how most guys of a certain age had her famous poster growing up. She referenced me as being of that “certain age” in the late ’70s. I told her: “Sorry. I didn’t have it. I watched Charlie’s Angels but my allowance went to buying something else I wanted more than the poster.” She asked what that was and I told her it was the action figure of her ex-husband.

She said, “Oh, you were one of those kids who ran in slow motion on the playground?” I told her I was. And then I told her I had a confession to make: that I had worked with her ex-husband and was friends with him. I held my breath as stared at me, taking in what I had just told her. Then she said, “You’re friends with Lee . . . how is he? We haven’t talked in years!” She was delighted that I knew him and asked me to give him a message. Which I did. And he gave me a message to give back to her.

So you were the Fawcett-Majors messenger?
Yes. A few years later, when the National Enquirer announced to the world that Farrah had cancer, Lee was one of the first people to call me. He wanted to know if it was true. I told him it was. From that point on both Lee and his wife, Faith, always checked in to ask how Farrah was doing.

This went on for a few years. Then, on February 2nd of this year, Lee asked me to tell Farrah “Happy Birthday.” I told him no, that he should call her himself. I think Lee was hesitant because it had been over 20 years since they had spoken. But he did call her and they had a great talk. Afterwards, Farrah called me and said, “Guess who I just talked to?” I said, “Lee Majors.” She said, “How did you know?” Then my other line beeped. It was Lee. He said, “Okay, I called her!” They were both very funny about it. And it was an unusual place for me to be, to have grown up watching both of their shows and now I had each of them on call waiting after they spoke to each other for the first time in two decades. But they were each glad they did it.

Unfortunately, it would be the last time they would ever speak. Farrah left for Germany two weeks later, came home in a wheelchair and never recovered.


So you really helped her complete the circle. What would getting an Emmy for Farrah’s Story mean to you?
It would mean a lot because it would mean that Farrah would win an Emmy in the same category (as the Executive Producers for Outstanding Nonfiction Special). That’s what it would really mean to me: that I was able to keep my word to Farrah about her winning an Emmy and that I was able to play a part in it.

But don’t misunderstand. It was her bravery, her message that is worthy of this award. I was just the messenger whose job it was to execute her vision. That’s what I thought about when I got the news that Farrah’s Story was nominated: that she would finally win her Emmy after forty years in the business. The first thing I did was call her father to share the good news with him. He was thrilled. And, typical of his sense of humor, he asked if there was any way he could take credit for this. I told him he could have all the credit because he gave the world with Farrah.


You must feel thrilled yourself. Aren’t you?
People say to me: “Congratulations. Are you excited?” But that’s not the right word. I guess I’m more “relieved.” Because when Farrah took a turn for the worse in April, Ryan O’Neal and his business manager banned me from seeing or talking to Farrah ever again.

At the same time, Ryan and Alana Stewart decided it was time for them to come in and “save” the project. And NBC, who had previously been so supportive and promised Farrah that this was her story to tell, supported them 100 percent. I’m sure the network would say otherwise but I believe that it was because they wanted this on the air for May sweeps and didn’t have the star to promote it. So began the “Ryan O’Neal Grieving Widower Press Tour With Special Appearances by Farrah’s Robotic Self-Promoting Best Friend Alana Stewart.”

That was bad enough but then Ryan and Alana did basically the same thing in the documentary itself by inserting those cringe-inducing, self-serving interview sound bytes shot by an unemployed ex-Dateline NBC Producer. I was appalled. But my appall quickly turned to disgust when I saw that Ryan and Alana had secretly shot Redmond (Farrah’s son with Ryan) in chains when he was released from jail for a few hours, under the supervision of two sheriff’s deputies, visiting Farrah—who was unconscious or close to unconscious in her bed. How dare they?

Ryan was not a producer on this program. Alana had refused to sign her co-producer contract because she wanted more money and a better title. Farrah was the boss, and if the boss was unable to function because of a health crisis her authority went automatically to me as per our company’s operating agreement (signed on April 1, 2008).

Ryan didn’t seem to care what any piece of paper said. He demanded that the title of the documentary be changed from A Wing & A Prayer to Farrah’s Story— which, in my opinion, was nothing but a cheap homage to his greatest claim to fame other than dating Farrah: Love Story. Changing the title was also a cruel irony considering if this was really Farrah’s story it would have been broadcast under the original title that Farrah and I chose: A Wing & A Prayer.



How much of the finished product that aired reflected Farrah’s intentions with the project?
Don’t get me wrong, most of the work that Farrah and I did is there. Like the diary narration that I shot with her in my living room. No one else was present. It was just her and her diary—and me and my camera.

It’s just that a lot of our other work was interrupted and sloppily clipped short in order to make room for Ryan’s bad reprisal of his Oliver Barrett role and Alana telling us that “needles are painful.” And for needless inserts of a trip to Mexico and Farrah’s brief experience with an inconclusive test of a new cancer drug. Farrah and I agreed not to include such footage because we had a lot more important, educational and inspiring scenes to include.

The New York Times reviewer Alessandra Stanley wrote, “. . . it was an exploitative portrait of a celebrity’s fight with cancer . . . NBC took Ms. Fawcett’s candid video diary and allowed it to be packaged as a generic VH1 Behind the Music” biography—maudlin music, gauzy slow-motion film, and pseudo-revealing interviews with friends, coworkers, doctors and hairdressers reminiscing about a former star.” Yikes.
I can't disagree with the reviewer. That being said, there were scenes that were cut out completely. Scenes that dealt with medical information and issues that Farrah wanted to address in order to start a dialogue that could eventually effect change in our health system. And once again Ms. Stanley nailed it, criticizing the film for what wasn’t there (based on Farrah’s diary narration) and understanding that it was supposed to have been. (See sidebar below.)

She also seemed to distinguish Farrah from Farrah’s Story. She wrote that “the film isn’t as nearly as brave or as serious-minded as its cancer-stricken subject.”
But the film that Farrah and I were close to completing was as brave and as serious minded as she was. Because this project was a total reflection of her—and not Ryan O’Neal or Alana Stewart. And the fact that NBC allowed Ryan and Alana to do what they did, with significant help from an ex, unemployed NBC Dateline producer who Farrah had previously rejected, is still staggering to me. The rest of the reviews I read were as bad if not worse. At that point, I really didn’t think my promise to Farrah—of a nomination much less an Emmy—would come true. But there was one glimmer of hope. Most of the reviewers appreciated Farrah herself. Her bravery.

And when Farrah passed away, those kind of “reviews,” whether in the form of obituaries or commentaries or blogs, came flooding in. From big publications in big cities and from smaller ones in small towns. Some that resonated with me and that I believe would have made her proud included Metro International’s Clark DeLeon and Robert Thompson in the Chicago Examiner. Oh, and Entertainment Weekly’s Jennifer Armstrong. (See sidebar below.)

The fact that this documentary touched so many people and received an Emmy nomination is a real tribute to Farrah. It succeeded in reaching people in spite of everything that Ryan and Alana did to it and tried to do to it. Because at the end of the day, Farrah was still Farrah. There was nothing anyone could do to dim her light. And, like I told her in her kitchen before she was ever ill, “Farrah” was the “role” she was born to play.

NEXT WEEK: Craig Nevius tells all about his Farrah's Story experience, Fawcett's "trust issues" with O'Neal and Stewart, and O'Neal's alleged threats to kill Nevius.


EDITOR'S NOTE: This interview is an expression of free speech. The subjects and events discussed are newsworthy in that they are currently of interest and concern to the public, if not already public record (in whole or in part). The opinions expressed herein are just that: opinions. The answers offered in this interview are one person’s point-of-view based on that person’s own knowledge, experience and relationships. If you have an opposing opinion based on your own personal experience with the specific subject matter and/or events discussed above, I would gladly consider your request to be interviewed concerning the same material.

PARTING WORDS: How the critics saw Farrah and her "Story"

“At the end of the program, the actress says: ‘Why isn’t there more research done on certain types of cancer? And why doesn’t our healthcare system embrace alternative treatments that have proven successful in other countries?’ The film isn’t as nearly as brave or as serious-minded as its cancer-stricken subject.”—Alessandra Stanley, The New York Times

“Where once the image of Farrah was all hair and teeth, her final years transformed that image. Now she was all heart and steel. And beautiful despite the ravishes of an unforgiving disease. Farrah Fawcett saved her best for last and showed the world her transcendent courage and honesty, a warrior princess who refused to yield.”—Clark DeLeon, Metro International

“It's one thing to be famous. It's another thing altogether to be great. That said, sometimes a celebrity finds his or her greatness in spite of their fame. It would appear this was the case for Farrah Fawcett. In her struggle with cancer she rose above herself and gave her life as an encouragement and inspiration to others.”—Robert Thompson, Chicago Examiner

“Her beauty defined an era, but it was her brave final days that moved us most. Rather than to retreat into obscurity, the star – who had lived so much of her life in front of the camera – bravely chose to play herself. Nine million people tuned in to watch ‘Farrah’s Story’ as the beauty laid bare the ugly truths about her illness. That raw, inspirational journey is her real legacy.”—Jennifer Armstrong, Entertainment Weekly

Copyright 2009 Retroality.TV/Chris Mann